


Ambition Becomes Him

by Lomonaaeren



Series: From Samhain to the Solstice 2020 [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Humor, Malfoy Manor, Master of Death Harry Potter, Multi, Romance, Threesome - M/M/M, Winter Solstice
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-09
Updated: 2020-11-10
Packaged: 2021-03-09 07:13:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,257
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27466996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: Draco wants Harry to agree to come to the Manor to celebrate a traditional wizarding Yule, but Harry is reluctant. Draco enlists Severus’s help.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter/Severus Snape
Series: From Samhain to the Solstice 2020 [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1993852
Comments: 24
Kudos: 515





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another of my “From Samhain to the Solstice” fics, written for goddess47’s request: _Harry/Draco/Severus -- Post-war. Lucius and Narcissa have left Malfoy Manor to Draco (maybe they died, maybe they left for France, whatever fits your muse). Draco wants to celebrate a Wizarding tradition with Harry but needs some help from Severus._ This has two parts, with the second to be posted tomorrow.

“And you truly don’t understand why he won’t set foot in the Manor?”

Draco scowled at Severus. “How do you do that?”

“Do what?” Severus stretched his arm to pull down a flask from the top shelf of his Potions lab. He had refused to go back to Hogwarts after the war—an intelligent decision, Draco thought—and instead bought this little cottage in Wales with money that it turned out Dumbledore had set aside for him. The scars on his throat flashed lividly for a moment as he turned around.

Draco glared at the fire to conceal that he’d been looking. Severus was entirely unwilling to believe that _some_ people didn’t find scars unattractive. “Take my whole argument and litany of complaints to you and puncture it with a single stab?”

“Ah.” There was the clinking of glassware as Severus settled the flask on the table next to the cauldron. “In this case, I happen to know Potter better than you do.”

“I’ve been dating him for a year!”

“Have you?”

“You did it again!”

“I only wished to emphasize that in my understanding of _dating_ , both parties have to be aware that they’re doing it.”

Severus made it sound as if he had picked up the word “dating” with tongs. Draco sighed and turned back, aware that he would probably be safe now, since Severus’s back was turned as he carefully decanted some of the potion into the flask.

But only probably.

“I mean, if I said that I wanted to date him he would run away and proclaim he was straight,” Draco muttered. “It’s what he did when Theo wanted to date him, and when one of the Weasleys made an overture. So I’ve been—”

“Stringing him along.”

“No, _leading him up_ to the idea,” Draco snapped. “And he’s so hungry for a connection with his heritage. I looked up how the Potters celebrated Yule. I want to give that to him. But it can only be performed in a building where a wizarding family has lived for at least three generations, and the Potters don’t have any place left like that.”

Severus turned and stared at him. Draco stared back. As pleased as he was that Severus was paying more attention to him now than the potion, it wasn’t flattering to be examined as though he was an insect whose wings Severus might want to pull off.

“ _You_ looked up how the _Potters_ celebrated Yule.”

“Yes, I did. It’s a matter of public record. Or, I mean, some records. One of my ancestors was invited to a Potter Yule, and he wrote—”

“That is not what I meant.” Severus gave him that degree of unflattering study again. “You are truly gone on him.”

“Yes, I am,” Draco said, and then frowned. “Did you think that I was trying to _lure_ him to me? Or trap him into celebrating a Malfoy Yule with me? Why?”

“No. I thought you were using him for your own gain. Relying on his power to redeem the Malfoy name, and get you out of the mess that made your father leave.” Draco’s father had chosen exile rather than face the lingering suspicion and the reputation that said he would turn on the rest of wizarding society at any moment—and, Draco knew, because he hoped that leaving would free his son from the same.

Draco glanced away and shook his head impatiently. “No. I could have tried to do that. But I didn’t.”

“And you want my help.”

“Yes, I do.” Draco waited a moment, while Severus stood there and looked unimpressed some more, and then gave in with bad grace. “If you’re there when we celebrate Yule, then he won’t think of it as a manipulation. The way he will if he arrives and I’m the only one there. Besides, we could use three people for some of the ceremonies.”

Severus’s hands tightened for a long moment, to the point that Draco wouldn’t be surprised to see a crack race up the glass neck of the flask. Then he shook his head and turned back to the potion, bottling it with an easy scooping motion. Draco supposed he should be flattered that his presence had distracted Severus so much from the potion in the first place. “No.”

“Why not?” Draco leaned forwards insistently. “I know that you don’t resent Potter the way you used to.” _Or pretended to._ But Severus would use the discussion of how much he’d resented Potter in the past to get out of having the Yule discussion, if Draco brought it up, and Draco didn’t intend to make it easy for him to get out of the conversation. “And I don’t think that you’re committed to a particular set of Yule celebrations.”

“I will not celebrate the _Potter_ ones.”

Draco opened his mouth to ask why, and then closed it. Oh, of course. Father had revealed Severus’s past with James Potter and Lily Evans to him when Draco was still a child, in case Draco needed to use it for blackmail or leverage at Hogwarts. And even if Severus’s feelings had mellowed towards the son, he would hardly want to celebrate the way the father must have.

Luckily, Draco knew ways to get past that. It was something he wouldn’t have been motivated to do in the past, for all that he had looked at Severus and _wanted_. It wouldn’t have worked out the way he’d hoped.

But now…

“Then we’ll do the Prince celebrations, too.”

Severus almost dropped the flask. He managed to fumble it back to the table in time and pinned Draco to the chair with a wrathful gaze that actually seemed to hurt like a pin stabbed through his body would. Draco winced, but kept his eyes steady. Severus had spent too much time alone already, especially since he no longer taught at Hogwarts and wasn’t surrounded by students and other professors most of the time. It would do him good to spend Yule with at least a few people.

And if celebrating the Prince Yule traditions brought a smile back to his face, Draco would consider that a price well-paid for the research he would need to do.

“How do you know about my mother’s name?” Severus asked, and then answered the question before Draco could. “Lucius. Of course.” He stared off into the distance, his face unnervingly cold.

“Come on, Severus, please.” Draco gentled his voice. “It’s not just to help me with Harry. It’s—I hate what you’re becoming stuck in this place.”

“An expert brewer? You do not want the competition?”

“No. Someone who’d lost track of what day it was when I stepped through the fireplace.”

Severus’s head jerked once, and then he was still, watching Draco in the kind of silent, intense concentration that Draco had once found so unnerving when he was a student in the Potions classroom. This time, he simply stared back. He had been through things a lot more unnerving than that in the six years since the war, including realizing that he was steadily falling in love with Harry Potter.

Including realizing that his longing for Severus’s company and his wish that he could have done more for the man meant—well, many things.

“I wish that I knew why you continue to bother with me,” Severus said.

“Because you’re worth bothering with.”

Severus studied him again, but Draco wasn’t a potion to give up his secrets so easily. In the end, Severus nodded slowly. “Then I suppose I will see you at the Manor on the day of the winter solstice.”

Draco stood up and smiled at him, letting his hand fall briefly on Severus’s arm before he went over to the fireplace. “Yes, and I’m looking forward to it.”

*

Severus looked around critically as he stepped through the fireplace into Malfoy Manor. The decorations on the walls were sparse, at least in this room, but he could see the crown-shaped decorations, in that faint blue that veins in marble so often bore, for the Prince family, and a golden gryphon rampant.

Severus grimaced. _Yes, yes, the Potters._

“Hello, sir.”

Severus turned to face the man who was no longer his bane, but only because he no longer had to teach him or was bound to save his life. He nodded distantly. “Mr. Potter. I would prefer that you call me Mr. Snape, as I am no longer a professor and I believe Draco would object to the…distance your title implies.”

“I most certainly do.” Draco swept into the sitting room, carrying a silver tray with three wineglasses on it. Severus relaxed as he realized that the wineglasses held nothing but clear water, a Prince tradition. “And I insist that you call each other by your first names. It’s not as if you’re strangers.”

“I don’t think Mr. Snape would be very comfortable with that, Draco,” Potter said, before Severus could voice his own opinion. “And I don’t want to make him uncomfortable when we’re both guests in your home.” He gave Severus a distant nod and picked up the wineglass on the edge of the tray nearest him.

“So you would not be averse to making me uncomfortable at other times?” Severus couldn’t stop himself from asking, as he chose the wineglass closest to him in turn.

He got nothing but a calm scrutiny from Potter, and allowed himself to stare back for the first time. He had caught nothing more than glimpses of Potter since the end of the war—well, at least since the end of that damn trial in the Ministry where Potter had spoken to him. This young man was self-contained, cool in a way that Severus would never have believed a Potter could be.

And in dark green robes that Draco had probably persuaded him to war, with his magic dancing and springing freely around him in a way that Draco probably also had something to do with, he was more beautiful than Severus was willing to admit.

“I would try not to, sir.”

“None of that, I told you,” Draco said, and put down the tray on a small table of what looked like cherry wood nearby. “Come on, Harry. If you can take my hand when I trusted you enough to put it out for a second time, then you can call him Severus.”

 _A second time?_ Severus watched in perplexity as Potter flushed. It seemed that it was some kind of private joke between the two of them, though, since Potter didn’t follow up on it, but turned and inclined his head a little to Severus.

“Sorry, Severus.”

His eyes were clear—as clear as green pools of water, without the fire. Severus found himself missing that fire, wanting to do something to bring it back. He cleared his throat and said, “Apologies accepted, Harry.”

It was the first time he could remember that he’d said the first name without the last name after it. The air in the room seemed to pause, trembling like the snowflakes outside the window, but nothing broke.

“There. That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Draco clapped his hands with the same brisk motion he’d used to carry the tray into the room, and then walked over to stand in front of the fireplace. “Come here, Harry.”

This must be one of the Potter traditions that Severus hadn’t wanted to participate in or witness. But from the way Potter brightened as he swallowed the water in the crystal glass and set it down on the tray again, Severus began to suspect that Draco wasn’t the only one completely gone on someone in the room.

 _Good, Draco deserves to have his devotion returned,_ Severus told himself, and ignored the way part of him winced when Draco and Potter’s hands joined, forming a circle that left him outside it.

“I would like to make you a promise for the coming year,” Draco murmured, gazing at Potter’s eyes with such earnestness that Severus wondered idly how Potter _hadn’t_ picked up on Draco wanting to date him. “Will you let me make it?”

“I have to hear what it is, first, don’t I, Draco?”

Potter’s voice was low, measured, and husky. Severus watched Draco light up at the sound of it, and the surge of jealousy that passed through him was—unusual. Not least because he wasn’t sure which one of them he was jealous of.

“That’s true.” Draco stood taller and drew his breath in, and he looked more adult than Severus had ever seen him. “So. First. I would like to promise you that I’ll look up Potter traditions for other holidays in the coming year, and celebrate them with you as well.”

For a long moment, Potter was so still that Severus thought they were riding the edge of a rejection, and silently winced, anticipating Draco’s disappointment. And then Potter ducked his head and smiled a little, and Severus realized with astonishment he was watching a man struggling to control his own delight.

“Yes,” Potter whispered. “I accept that promise. Thank you, Draco.”

“I’m not done yet.” Draco squeezed his hands gently. “The tradition says two promises each, since there are two of us.”

 _Two_ , Severus thought, and suddenly wished that his wineglass was full again, of something much stronger than water.

“Then please make the second.” This time, Potter let the smile spread fully across his lips, and Severus had to look away.

But he couldn’t escape the sound of Draco’s voice, low but not pleading, the way he had imagined it might sound. “Two. I would like to promise you that I’ll be faithful to you for the next year, in public and private, and not date or bed anyone else without your permission.”

This time, the silence was short. “Yes, Draco. I accept that. I’d like it very much.”

Severus turned back in time to see Potter lean forwards and kiss Draco. From what Draco had said on his weekly visits to Severus, that was the first time this had ever happened. Draco let out a soft groan and dug his hand into Potter’s hair.

Severus shut his eyes, and luckily the disturbing sight was gone when he opened them again. Potter was the one who faced Draco with his head canted up and a smile tugging on his lips, and said, “I hope you don’t mind, but my first promise to you is going to be a mirror of the one you just made me. I promise that I’ll be faithful to you for the next year, in public and private, and not date or bed anyone else without your permission.”

“Thank you,” Draco said. “I accept.” His own voice could get deep and husky, too, as if he wanted to prove that and not let Potter have all the huskiness to himself. Severus resisted the temptation to swat at invisible irritants that seemed to be congregating around him.

“And for the second one…” Potter seemed to be thinking, but his body was still, his hands not fluttering around the way Severus was accustomed to seeing happen in his Potions class. Of course, with them captured by Draco’s hands, perhaps he couldn’t do that anyway, Severus thought, a little sourly.

Then Potter looked up, and caught Draco’s eye. “I promise to visit you more in Malfoy Manor for the next year, and you don’t have to dangle the prospect before me and promise me Severus Snape’s presence. Will that be acceptable?”

 _What_? Severus thought, and very nearly said aloud.

Draco seemed to know what Potter was talking about, though, because he caught his breath in a way that sounded _grateful,_ and then nodded. “Thanks, Harry. I would appreciate that. I accept.”

Potter smiled at him and touched his face with one gentle hand. Then he stepped back, and released Draco’s hands, and some flame that seemed to have been burning in the room, at the edge of Severus’s sight, flickered out.

It would have been less disconcerting if Potter hadn’t turned to face him. “Are you ready for my promises to you, sir? I mean Severus,” he added hastily, seeming to sense Draco’s scowl before it had fully formed.

“What?” Severus did say this time. “That is a Potter tradition, not a Prince one.”

“I know that. But it seems that _someone_ should make promises to you that they do mean.”

Severus studied Potter carefully, but could see no sign of drunkenness. He didn’t think Potter had arrived all that much before him and begun imbibing wine, either. He gave a little shiver, which Potter only considered with a grave glance.

“You—you cannot mean it.”

“That’s not a refusal.”

Severus didn’t know when Potter had acquired a mysterious, Slytherin-like smile, and found that he didn’t really want to contemplate it. He moved slowly forwards. Potter reached out his hands, and Severus took them, and then suddenly he was part of that same enchanted circle that he had been envying a moment before.

Draco stood by, next to the fire, and _he_ was sipping a glass of wine that he must have received from the house-elves. Severus couldn’t say whether he envied him more for that, or for the way that he looked delighted with what was happening—a softness around the edges of the face, in his eyes—and not jealous at all.

But Severus had to turn away from Draco, who was familiar, a Slytherin, someone he had talked through childish troubles and adult ones and in fact his own jealousy of Potter, and look at Potter’s eyes.

Potter, who smiled at him as openly and fearlessly as he had smiled at Draco. Severus stared back. He hadn’t been the one pursuing Potter for the past year and trying to get him to come to Malfoy Manor. Did Potter remember that? Realize that?

Maybe not. Or maybe it didn’t matter to him.

“I suppose you’ll want me to make you promises, as well,” Severus said, forcing his lips and tongue to move.

“Oh, no,” Potter said calmly. “I know that this isn’t your tradition, and it probably weighs on you a bit, considering what my father did to you.”

Severus’s hands jerked in Potter’s, without leaving them. Potter looked at him, and then back down at his hands. “Do you want to leave?”

It sounded so much like something Severus would have said that he forced himself to stand still. He shook his head. “I am curious to see what promises you wish to make me, Potter. And what makes you think that I’ll accept them,” he added, because, honestly, he had to.

“I would like to give you the _chance_ to accept them.” Potter’s glasses shone as he tilted his head, and then Severus could no longer see into his eyes. “First, I’d like to promise you that I’ll speak to you more often.”

Severus stared at him. “What makes you think I want that?”

“You agreed to come here tonight. And I think it would make you happy.”

That was so preposterous that Severus thought of at least six different ways he could point out that it was ridiculous. But he didn’t say them. He stood there and thought, and then said, “This would be for the term of the next year?”

Potter nodded.

Severus thought of the way he had felt when Draco and Potter had stood as if to leave him out. And how Potter wanted to make these promises to him. And how Potter had said that he didn’t need Severus’s presence to visit Malfoy Manor, but…

He had spoken of it as a temptation.

“I accept,” Severus said, and wondered if he was mad.

Potter gave him a smile so brilliant that it warmed Severus more than wine could have. Then he said, “I have a second promise for you, if you’ll accept it.”

“Perhaps I will. Tell me what it is.”

Potter’s hands tightened for a moment, and he watched Severus’s face as if he thought that this one was the one more likely to be refused. “I would like to make you part of the foundation I’m putting together to dispel darkness in the wizarding world.”

Severus simply stared at him and didn’t say a word, because if _Potter_ couldn’t see how ridiculous this was, then Severus was not going to be the one to tell him.

“Harry.” Draco’s voice was soft and amused. “You need to explain what you mean, I think.”

“Right,” Potter said, and flushed. “There’s the impetuousness again,” he muttered, sounding as if he was quoting someone. Severus thought it was probably no one more interesting than Weasley or Granger, but on the other hand, he would have liked to have the right to ask.

Potter looked up at him and cleared his throat. “The foundation I’m putting together is working at educating people on biases, making life better for magical creatures, and trying to prevent another civil war.”

“All of them at once?”

“It does sound sort of disorganized, doesn’t it,” Potter murmured with a smile that unfairly disarmed Severus by depriving him of his ability to speak. “But I think all of them are connected. It all comes back to ignorance. Ignorance that blood status means nothing. Ignorance of what beings like vampires, centaurs, and goblins need to be happy. Ignorance of the fact that there are political changes short of taking up your wand.”

Severus narrowed his eyes. “So you would be working on policy changes?”

“Yes. Those are the deepest kind, I think. But there’s also the fact that the magical world barely has any celebrities or entertainment or education outside of Hogwarts—I mean, compared to the Muggle world. I want to do more of that. Publish kids’ books where goblins get to be the heroes. Make people prominent who have ideas, but lack the money to do it. Encourage people to listen to someone other than me. In the short term, though, the fact that I’m the Boy-Who-Conquered will encourage people to listen.”

“That sounds Slytherin of you.”

Potter lifted a shoulder and dropped it. “The Hat would have put me in Slytherin if it had had its way.”

Severus choked on air. Potter laughed at him, but for the first time in his life, laughter coming from a Potter’s mouth didn’t offend him. Potter just grinned at him and added, “This is what I’m doing. And if you’d like, biases against Slytherin can be the ones that you specifically work with.”

“I am—not Head of Slytherin House or part of Hogwarts anymore. And some would say that a teacher who bullied his students should be the last to speak on that.”

“Believe me, I have other people speaking on that.” Potter’s eyes were as sharp as broken glass for a moment, and Severus did not look away. “No, what I thought you could speak to are the pressures inside Slytherin House, something most people don’t know about or think is actually a _good_ thing. The perils of judging everyone by blood status. The way that Slytherins felt themselves under siege, whether or not they really were, and what it did to them. The largest number of Death Eaters came from Slytherin, and that’s not a coincidence, but there also has to be a _reason_ for it.”

“Some of that might involve criticism of Albus.”

Potter sighed a little. “I loved the man, but his saint-like image is something else that influenced the wizarding world for the worse. So is the image that people had of me, for that matter. They _wanted_ a saint, and when I proved not to be one, they had no recourse but deciding I was a villain. I want us to move away from assuming someone is perfect in either direction.”

“Perfectly evil?”

“Yes.”

Severus looked over Potter’s head for a moment, trying to imagine what was approaching, and finding that he probably couldn’t imagine it. “I—am not sure that I would like the interference in my quiet life.”

“You could do it all by owl, if you’d like, although personal appearances are more impressive. And I’m sure that you have wards against Howlers.”

To his horror, Severus found himself actually considering it. He would like to think that future generations of Slytherins would never again be subjected to a pressure like the one that had resulted in so many becoming Death Eaters, but he knew that was foolish. The destruction of the Dark Lord had not burnt and salted the roots of blood purity, as much as Severus wished it had. And certain vicious traditions endured in the House that Severus could not imagine Slughorn coping well with, or most Heads of House hired after him.

Severus looked back at Potter, still waiting sincerely for his answer, still ready, he knew, to explain more, and made his decision.

“I accept your promise.”

Potter nodded. “I promise that you’ll be able to escape if you want to, or don’t feel this experiment is working out. But let’s try it for the terms of one year.”

“Experiment?”

“Anything that a Potter and a Snape do together is an experiment.”

Severus stiffened, his eyes scanning Potter’s face carefully, but he saw nothing but the utmost sincerity, the kind Potter seemed to have come to after the war. After a long moment, he nodded, and Potter smiled back.

“Splendid!” Draco announced. “And now, we have dinner waiting, and some of the Prince traditions to perform.”

Severus let go of Potter’s hands. He found himself doing it slowly. He found himself reluctant to do so at all.

And he hadn’t even had any wine as yet.


	2. Chapter 2

Draco was cautiously pleased, which he knew was the only reasonable way to feel when they had only begun the navigation of the traditions. Potter and Prince, with Malfoy left to the side for now.

Maybe next year, that would be different.

But for now, he had the man he’d desired and been pursuing for the last ten months, and the man he’d desired and carefully refrained from pursuing, and who had hated each other for decades, under his roof and talking over dinner. Harry had made promises to Severus, and Severus had taken them.

And promises to Draco, as well.

Draco let his eyes rake over Harry’s face. At the moment, Harry was smiling, the slight, more restrained smile that he’d used before the promise ritual, as he listened to Severus rant about the particularly infelicitous qualities of ingredients available at the apothecary nearest his lab. Draco wasn’t sure that Harry understood everything Severus was saying, but the thought no longer filled him with the scorn that it once would have.

He didn’t think that _he_ understood all the passions that were driving Harry, either, especially not about this foundation that seemed destined to combat a never-ending and faceless enemy. But he wanted to know. He admired Harry. He was fascinated.

Harry cast him a glance and smiled, this time a smile wider and warmer. Draco raised a glass of mulled cider to him. This was a Prince tradition, drinking the cider with the dinner, which was of roasted pheasant and tender chicken and a great many other birds.

No one’s tradition said anything about that, which meant Draco had selfishly selected what he liked himself. At least Harry was eating, and Severus had paused in ranting long enough to swallow regularly.

As Severus finished his cider, he set the glass down with a slight ringing noise. Harry paused and listened for a second. Draco wouldn’t be surprised if he could sense the subtle qualities of shifting magic in the air. Harry was far more sensitive than he’d once tried to portray himself.

“It is tradition, on this longest night,” said Severus, his voice slightly vibrating, “to look into the dregs of the cider, and call upon the beloved dead to drink with us.”

Harry’s face softened at once. Draco hadn’t told him about the Prince traditions, because he hadn’t had a chance to tell Severus about the Potter traditions, and he had wanted them both to be on equal footing. But from the way Harry bent his head when Severus did, he had no problem following this particular custom.

“I call upon the beloved dead of the far past,” Severus said in a hoarse voice, “to come to us, to drink with us if they will, to share our thanks.”

The air around them began to dance and swirl as if filled with invisible snowflakes. Draco found himself catching his breath with a gasp. He had expected—

Not a response, anyway. Not this _clear._ He had thought it might happen so that only Severus or Harry could hear or feel anything.

No, obviously. The feeling of invisible snowflakes settled on the table and the chairs, and then a slender figure formed, standing at the bottom of the table, opposite Draco.

Draco had never seen her before, but he had no doubt who she was. Despite the fact that she was pale as all ghosts were, there was a tinge of red to her hair, of green to her eyes. She smiled at Harry and Severus both, her hands spread out on the table.

“Mum,” Harry whispered.

“Lily,” Severus said, and there was little less hoarseness to his voice.

Because Draco was himself, even through his awe he felt a twinge of worry that he might not be able to compete with a dead woman, should he make a play for Severus. The woman part didn’t worry him. The dead part—did.

“Hello, Harry,” Lily Potter said, and her expression was so warm and fond that Draco looked down into his own cider. “I love you. I’m so proud of you, of what you’re doing in my name.”

“In your name?” Severus looked somewhere between shocked and pleading.

Lily turned to him. “Hello, Severus,” she said, and her voice was cooler than when she’d spoken to her son, but Draco wouldn’t have called it cold. “Yes. Harry is establishing the foundation he told you about and calling it Lily’s Hope.”

“You didn’t mention that,” Severus snapped, turning back to Harry.

Harry shrugged with his head bowed, and Draco wished he was sitting near enough to reach out and touch him. “I thought you wouldn’t accept being part of it if I did.”

“A brilliant tactic, Mr. Potter, that was likely to work for all of—what, a week, until I received my first owl and discovered the foundation’s name?”

“Enough, please.”

Lily sounded both weary and fond, as if she’d spent time already moderating debates between these two, although Draco couldn’t imagine _how_. Then again, based on what Harry had hinted at and his father had outright told him, perhaps Lily Potter had argued with her husband over Severus Snape more than once in the afterlife.

“I’m proud of you, too, Severus, for finally coming out of your lab and getting ready to move on.”

“I—I am alive.”

“Yes.” Lily Potter raised an eyebrow, and Draco experience a sudden, fierce wish that he’d known her. “About time that you realized that fact.”

Harry cleared his throat. “I—is Dad going to come with you, Mum?”

Lily smiled at him. “I chose to come tonight. It’s one visitor each time, at least for people who have shared as much as you and Severus have.”

Draco had to hide his laugh behind his own mug when he saw Harry and Severus exchange a _look_ at that, although he thought that Harry’s eyes contained a spark of agreement.

“And you, Mr. Malfoy.” Draco found himself feeling like an iron statue as Lily focused on him and took a single step forwards. “Thank you for hosting this dinner, and for looking up the Prince and the Potter traditions, even if you _did_ have ulterior motives.”

“Draco? Ulterior motives? I’m shocked.”

“Hush, son. I’m talking to your boyfriend right now.”

Harry flushed brightly, and Draco choked a little. But he put down his mug and leaned forwards, entirely prepared to give Lily Potter his respectful attention.

Even if it _was_ a little premature to call Harry his boyfriend, and Draco would have wanted to be the first one to do it.

Lily smiled at him and spun her magic around her for a moment, making the table come alight and shimmer as if she was sprinkling stardust on it. Draco watched carefully, but couldn’t sense any hint of a malevolent presence, and relaxed. It appeared that the spell, or whatever that was, had been to make the table and chair solid enough that a ghost could touch them. Lily sat down and regarded Draco seriously.

“Do they know that you want both of them?”

Draco flickered a panicked look over at Harry and Severus, but they were blank-faced. He glanced at Lily. “Did you make our conversation private?”

Lily smiled. “Yes. I couldn’t have done it if I was called by some other method than this.” For a moment, her eyes traveled to Harry in a way that made Draco wonder what Harry had yet to tell him.

He wanted to know _all_ of Harry’s secrets. He didn’t have as ambitious a goal for Severus, but he wouldn’t have said no to anything the man offered.

“I—I’ve wanted Harry for months now,” Draco said. “I don’t know when it began for Severus. Exactly.”

“Intriguing answer, but not the question I asked.”

“Are you here to warn me off from one or both of them?”

Lily laughed softly, a sound like snow pattering against windows. “Of course not. It’s a bit late for me to be possessive of the living.” Her smile shaded into sadness. “What I wanted to do was compliment you on bringing them here, and warn you that playing too much longer in silence could result in them walking away.”

Draco’s heart shriveled inside him. He wasn’t a Gryffindor, to just blurt out what he wanted and ask for a response.

But he also knew she was right. Severus would simply dart right back into his lab and refuse to come back out again if Draco didn’t make his intentions clear. Draco was frankly amazed he had agreed to come to Malfoy Manor for the Yule celebration at all.

And Harry…

“I find your son so bloody hard to judge,” Draco muttered. “I know that it’s probably a cheat to ask you, but Severus thought I was leading him on, and he agreed to come when I mentioned the Potter traditions and Severus, but…how can I know whether he wants _me_?”

“He wouldn’t have put up with coming here at all if he didn’t want you.”

Draco bowed his head. “Then why doesn’t he say so?”

“Why don’t you ask him?”

Draco grimaced, and Lily laughed at him. “Sometimes House traditions don’t have to last a whole lifetime, you know,” she said, and stood. “Think about it. And now I have something private to say to Severus.”

She touched the table, and the magic she had spread out dissipated in a whoosh of starlight. Then she walked over and sat down calmly next to Severus, moving her hand in the same way.

Draco found himself wondering what they were talking about, of course, but more, he found himself shooting speculative looks at Harry. Harry smiled at him and shifted chairs to be a little nearer him.

“What are you thinking?” Harry asked, leaning his elbow on the table and his chin on his hand.

Draco took a moment to admire him. He had coaxed Harry into wearing green dress robes, telling him that it was part of the Prince traditions—which it was—and also that he thought Harry looked great in them.

 _He really lit up when I said that,_ Draco remembered suddenly.

And Draco had to swallow as he understood the simple thing Lily Potter was trying to tell him. He had to show his appreciation more openly—which he could do—and tell Harry that he did want to be with him, because Harry wasn’t used to compliments. At least, not sincere ones. He got compliments and coy letters all the time from people who wanted his autograph or presents from him or to use him somehow, but not from people who just thought he was beautiful.

“Draco?”

Draco reached out and gently laid a hand on Harry’s arm. “I was thinking that you’re beautiful, and not enough people tell you that.”

The startled little jerk of Harry’s chin, his bright flush, his shocked stare, were all treats. Draco kept his hand in place, and after a moment, Harry covered it with his own.

“No one says that,” Harry whispered.

“Some people probably don’t realize that you need to hear it,” Draco said. He was doing his best to think fairly of Weasley and Granger, although it seemed to him that they demanded more from Harry than they gave, just like everyone. “And, well, there are people who will always be disappointed if you’re not perfect.”

Harry gave him a searching look. “But not you.”

“I’m so much less than perfect myself, how could I ever demand it?”

“You’re not perfect, but that’s not what I want, either,” Harry said. His fingers tightened, hard, on Draco’s wrist. “What would you say if I told you that you’re not the only one here tonight that I’m attracted to?”

Draco shook his head sadly. “I would say that I never knew the Potter traditions included incest.”

True surprise flashed across Harry’s face for a second before he laughed aloud. Another thing he didn’t get to do often enough, Draco thought hungrily, watching Harry’s face for the lines the laughter brought, the color it turned his cheeks.

“Git. You know perfectly well what I mean.”

Draco nodded, and summoned all the courage that Lily Potter had asked of him. “Yes, I do. And I would say that you aren’t alone.”

It was worth it, pushing past all his internal flinching, to see the way Harry’s eyes blazed like fireworks.

“Well,” Harry said, soft and slow, as if talking to himself. “Well, then.”

Draco squeezed his hand. “We can make it work.”

Harry nodded and sat back, valiantly keeping his gaze from straying to where Lily and Severus spoke behind the privacy spell. Draco did the same, and when he started talking about the absolutely deplorable state of professional Quidditch at the moment, Harry responded.

But their eyes did sometimes stray, and Draco thought they were both curious about the look on Severus’s face as he bowed his head, his hair falling forwards to obscure his features.

Maybe they were even curious for the same reasons.

*

“Lily, I’m sor—”

“That, I knew.”

Severus swallowed. This was not how he had ever imagined this meeting going—but then, he had sunk himself so deeply into the idea that he would never have redemption that he hadn’t truly imagined it. Now and then, as when he had lain dying of his wounds in the Shrieking Shack for a few seconds before fumbling for his bezoar, he had pictured meeting Lily in the afterlife, and what she might say.

But then again, he had pictured her accompanied by James Potter. And if that was one of his main motivations for stuffing the bezoar down his throat, that was something he would keep to himself.

“You know what the best atonement you could make to me would be?”

“What? I would do anything.”

Lily nodded. “I know. And the answer is: try to live, Severus. I’ve had the decades since my death to come to terms with what you did, what you didn’t do, and what you did to try and make up for it. I’m not vengeful anymore.”

Severus hated himself for needing to ask the question, but he _did_ need to. “What about James?”

“What he wants doesn’t have a place in this discussion.”

Severus sighed and sat back in his chair. That was a better answer than he ever could have expected. “All right. I’ll—I’ll try, Lily. Maybe accept a few invitations from Draco to spend more time in the Manor.”

Lily smiled. “I believe there was also a promise that you accepted from my son about speaking with him more, and being part of the foundation that bears my name.”

“Yes, that, too.” Severus hesitated, but again, when would a chance like this come? Perhaps not until next Yule, if even then. “Do you—approve?”

He didn’t have to tell her what he was asking. He was sure she knew all about what he might feel, could feel, had a shadow of feeling, for her son. Lily had been far quicker about things like that than Severus had, who had shut himself away from understanding emotions for fear of what it would mean for him to confront his own.

Lily nodded slowly. “I could, if you show that you can live and not shut yourself away in the lab again.”

Severus shut his eyes. “Thank you.”

They sat in silence after that, for all that Severus had thought he would be overflowing with questions and apologies and demands if he ever saw Lily again. But there was no urgency. Perhaps the magic, perhaps the fact that he had seen her and it wasn’t as he was dying himself. Perhaps because this was both less and more than he had always hoped for.

“You saved him, Severus.”

Severus opened his eyes and saw the glitter of star-like tears in Lily’s eyes, which hurt enough that he winced. But Lily shook her head, while also gently patting at his arm with one hand.

“No. No, you did what you needed to, Severus, which meant he could keep living. Don’t ever think I’m not grateful for that.”

Severus only nodded, his throat too full to say what he felt. Lily touched him once more, light and soft on his arm, and then stood.

“I have to go now,” she said.

Severus couldn’t help staring across the table at Potter. At Harry. As he watched, the man turned his head and smiled a little as he met Severus’s eyes, instead of his mother’s.

“But what about—”

“Harry can speak to me whenever he wants,” Lily said softly. “Ask him why. He might tell you.” She smiled at him then, sad and more lovely than a winter’s morning.

But not the loveliest thing he had ever seen. Not anymore. Severus took a shaky breath and bowed his head for a second, his hand finding its way to his chest, under his robes and shielded by the curve of the table, where no one could see.

He didn’t know what to do with the weight of the grief that had cracked and fallen from him.

“I will,” he whispered.

Lily’s hand might have glanced over his forehead in blessing, or he might have imagined it. And then she was gone, turning on the spot and vanishing as if in a burst of snowlit Apparition.

Severus smoothed his hand over the rim of the cider mug, and the words scorched his tongue as he said, “We thank the ancient dead for their visit, and we thank—we thank them for offering us their wisdom.”

The room seemed to tense, and then the tension bled out of it. Severus closed his eyes and tried not to feel a sense of loss. She had come to him once. She might come again.

And he knew, now, that she did not hate him so much that she had never forgiven him. If he would never see her alive again, well, that was a burden he had carried for ten years, and one he could continue to carry.

“Are you all right, Professor Snape?”

Severus opened his eyes and studied Harry Potter, who had hold of Draco’s hand but looked as if he would be willing to reach across the table. “I thought it was a condition of Draco’s hospitality that we call each other by our first names, Harry.”

There was a brief widening of Harry’s eyes, and then he inclined his head and smiled. “Are you all right, Severus?”

The sweet pouring of warmth through Severus felt better than drinking five glasses of wine. He cleared his throat and nodded. “I am.” He glanced at Draco and found the warm welcome waiting for him in Draco’s eyes, too.

How long had it been there? How long had Severus been ignoring it?

 _Well, no longer,_ Severus thought, and turned to face Harry. “Your mother said that you could speak with her whenever you wanted. Will you tell me about it? That doesn’t seem to be something you could do before.”

And he trusted Harry to answer the question and the words and not twist the “before” around to mean something else, too. What a remarkable thing.

*

Draco stared at Harry, and wondered what to make of the complex expression crossing his face. It was—well, it was amused, and lost, and worried, and a little angry.

But Draco didn’t care, as long as it meant that Harry wouldn’t storm out of Malfoy Manor and swear never to return. He had wanted to open a door into Harry’s heart for the entire year of subtly dating him, of “leading him on,” as Severus had put it. And Harry had held back, been aloof, turned his words off with a joke, or referred vaguely to bad memories from the war, but he had never been as open as this.

After a moment, Harry sighed. “You know that You-Know-Who was looking for the Elder Wand, and that I used it to defeat him.”

Severus started, his eyes wide, and Draco was sure that it was for Harry’s courtesy in not using the Dark Lord’s name. But he didn’t say anything, so it was left to Draco to say, “Yes, that was reported in all the papers, and you did say something about it.” He hesitated, then added, “And so the wand is so powerful you can force the dead to return?”

He didn’t bother trying to keep the disapproving tone from his voice, the way he’d done for more than a year when something Harry did had irritated him. Draco had been so careful, not wanting to frighten Harry off or make him regret associating with Draco. But he was suddenly sure that nothing he could say would frighten Harry off.

Harry was here to stay.

“No. With this.” Harry extended his hands and cupped them, and suddenly there was a gleaming grey stone there.

Draco, who was so much closer to childhood than Severus, should have got the reference first, but Severus was the one who gasped, “That’s the Resurrection Stone,” and Harry nodded and dropped his hands. Draco didn’t manage to avoid starting when a legend rolled on his dining room table.

At least it was better than some other things that had been there.

“You’re the Master of Death,” Severus said, his voice so awed that it was hard to hear what other emotions might be hiding in it.

“Yeah.” Harry licked his lips and looked back and forth between them. “Is that a problem for either of you?”

“Why would it be?”

Draco knew he sounded enchanted, but Harry gave a nervous little laugh, as if he hadn’t noticed Draco’s tone. “Because it’s one more thing that makes me abnormal,” he said, and tugged on his hair as if he wanted to pull it aside and show the lightning bolt scar. He didn’t, but he could have, for all that Draco cared. “I—don’t want to be abnormal. I don’t want to make you uncomfortable. But I don’t think this is something I can change.”

“The only thing that concerns me right now,” Severus whispered, “is the legend that says Cadmus Peverell’s wife was so unhappy to be summoned back that she was constantly weeping and he finally committed suicide to join her. Are you going to be tempted to join your parents? Are you hurting Lily?”

Draco caught a quick breath. He hadn’t even thought of that.

Harry looked up, startled, and then laughed, a free, open sound that Draco appreciated a lot more than the nervous one from before. “No. The legends are different because none of the three brothers had all three of the Hallows. I need to hold the Stone to speak with my parents or anyone else who’s died, but I don’t actually summon their spirits. I join them in their realm. And it leaves me with a greater appreciation for life, and capable of making the distinction between life and death. I don’t know if that makes sense. I don’t know if I can explain it more clearly than that.” He hesitated, and his eyes darted between Draco and Severus. “I’ve never tried to explain it before now.”

Draco’s heart beat with smug pride and pleasure, and he smiled as he got up and walked behind Harry’s chair. “Thank you for telling us,” he whispered.

“Yes. Thank you.” Severus was standing now, his eyes a little narrowed, as if he suspected what Draco was about to do and didn’t approve of it.

Or just wanted to be part of it. Draco felt on fire suddenly with daring and brightness, as if he was diving after the Snitch. He decided to assume the best interpretation and go with it.

He placed his right hand on Harry’s cheek, relishing in the sound of his breath catching, and reached out his left hand to Severus.

Severus came quickly around the table. Meanwhile, Harry stared at both of them with eyes as wide as full moons.

“I invited you both here tonight not expecting much,” Draco began, which was only technically true. He hadn’t _expected_ much, but he’d _hoped_ for a lot. “But now I know that I want to try to make a go of things with both of you.” He paused and looked back and forth between the both of them with a smile he couldn’t dim. “Can I try that?”

“Can _we._ ” Severus was the one who made the correction. Harry looked as if he was still too much in shock to say anything.

“The answer is yes,” Harry whispered, and then cleared his throat as if he had remembered that there were two other people there who might have different opinions. “I mean. For me.”

Draco smiled at him and leaned in for a kiss. Harry lifted his head, and their lips met, and Draco sighed at the sweetness and warmth of it, as if part of the mood that hovered in the air had left its taste in Harry’s mouth. Then he lifted his head and looked at Severus.

Severus slowly bent his head. Draco knew how great a concession that was, and kissed him hastily, before Severus could change his mind. Severus made a displeased noise as Draco’s nose bumped into his chin.

“Sorry,” Draco murmured, and drew back a little, and corrected himself. This time, it was wondrous, deep and exciting in a way that soothed him and drew him on. And when he drew back, Severus licked his lips and looked as if he might have wanted to go on.

Then Draco took a deep breath and stepped back.

He knew as well as anyone else here that whether Severus and Harry could touch each other with any degree of fondness was what would make or break the evening.

Harry swallowed slowly and stood up. Severus moved a step forwards, and then stopped. Draco had the sense that he had come as far as he could, no matter what encouragement someone might offer him.

 _Come on, Harry,_ Draco thought—hoped—fiercely. _You know that you can do this._

*

Severus stood staring at Harry Potter, at his face that seemed so different from either one of his parents’ moments after seeing Lily, and wondered if he did dare to take that last step. His body felt as if all his courage had drained away at once.

But Harry smiled at him, and crossed the small distance between them with light, quick steps, and lifted a hand to cup Severus’s chin.

Severus closed his eyes when Harry touched his chin. He couldn’t help it. Lily’s son, and Potter’s son, reaching out to him willingly like this, meant he couldn’t look as they kissed.

It didn’t matter, though, not when Harry’s mouth told its own story. Not hesitating, fierce and strong and warm, the kiss matched the grip of Harry’s hand on Severus’s chin. Harry gently tilted Severus’s head back so that he could kiss the underside of Severus’s chin, next to his own fingers, and then drew back.

“Well?” he asked, in a slightly breathless voice.

Severus opened his eyes, and couldn’t help himself when he saw the flushed, expectant look on Harry’s face. “You exceed my expectations for the first time, Mr. Potter,” he drawled.

Draco looked ready to murder him, but Harry laughed, bright-faced and smiling with his eyes. “Thanks, Professor Snape.”

Severus looked over Harry’s head at Draco and found himself remembering their kiss, too. And how Draco had kept coming to Severus’s house long after many other people would have given up, talking to him and asking him about his potions and complaining about his own needs and in general dragging him back into the world.

One new chance. One that had been waiting for him for a long time.

Yes. Severus could live with these results.

*

Harry stepped outside Malfoy Manor’s gates and tilted his head back enough to watch the stars. They were impossibly bright and cold and far. Harry located Sirius out of habit, but most of his mind was lingering in the house, with the two men he had a hint of a future with.

He had known, of course he had, that Draco was pursuing him, but he had played obtuse for nearly a year, hoping that if he did, he might get everything he wanted in the end. Harry felt he had to make sure Draco was serious. He’d been pursued by so many people since the war who just wanted a taste of the Boy-Who-Lived, or, like Charlie Weasley, had wanted to be saved by a hero, and he wasn’t about to waste his time with any more of them.

And then, when Draco had talked about Severus, Harry had decided that he might as well play for higher stakes. Draco betrayed his attraction to Severus with every conversation. Harry could admit to having a few fantasies over the years—although they had changed from forcing Snape to admit he was right, to reconciliation of a kind, to learning more about the man who had been his mother’s best friend, to seeing what would happen if he touched him.

Agreeing, grudgingly, to go to the Manor when Draco told him Severus would be there was the hardest acting he’d ever done. He’d wanted to laugh aloud, to agree immediately, but it would have been too sudden a transition.

He thought he could hear his mother’s soft laughter in his head, and certainly she would have rolled her eyes fondly at him if she’d been here. They’d had more than one conversation where she had told him his Slytherin traits had grown stronger since the war.

But, well, now, ambition had paid off.

Harry smiled, and Apparated home.

**The End.**


End file.
